Event Log: May

[moustre]

Event Log: May, Moving Day

I. GATHERING The morning of the 15th is heralded by the sing-song voice of The Coven's coimeadai sidhe Nerissa Bell ringing through the hallways, seemingly unimpeded by the heavy doors or any silencing spells that have been placed in rooms. She asks that all those who arrived at the beginning of the month - not the new inductees, the ones from The Looking-Glass House - gather in The Coven's main room; she has some exciting and important news to deliver. Once everyone is gathered, Nessie (very much a morning person, and sorry to the anyone who isn't) grins and lays a hand on her chest. "Thanks to a good bit of your lot, we've managed to get things ready in record time - aye, I should start out with what I'm talking about, aren't I? Well, well - with the Parliament's permission, thank goodness for my Mhairi's sharp wit, we've managed to get a space for all you to live in outside of The Coven. You can still come and attend classes or talk to all of us, 'course, but everyone's been getting a bit itchy with such suddenly crowded quarters, aye?" Aye aye, calls some poor, tired student from the second floor as they pass through, and Nessie pauses with a slow blink before she laughs, shaking her head. "Anyway, gather your things if you have any and follow me. Or us," she corrects herself, as a few other Witches seem to materialize from nowhere. "Can't be out without a couple of friends, I suppose." As soon as everyone's ready, Nessie and her entourage lead them out of the courtyard, aglow with fresh flowers and the soft light of dawn peeking between the clouds. The spot they've managed to get isn't too far from The Coven proper, and it doesn't look much different than the rest of the Aristocratic District that it resides in - the only thing that sets it apart is the sign Nessie takes a moment to conjure up and hang with balls of light between two streetlamps. The Haven. "Named so as a respite for all you refugees," she explains as she turns around; she sets her hands on her hips, gazing out at the crowd, and gives them a small smile. "I can't stay and chat right now - Mhairi's still with Parliament even with the hours, and I've got things to get in order at the Coven still - but if you have need of either of us, we'll be in contact. We've a little mailbox set up in front of the Coven just for you lot, so just drop us a letter or some such with one of our names or both, and we'll be right quick about answering, we will. Within reason," Nessie adds, laughing a little, "'course, within reason. Anyway, find some familiar faces and have a lovely time, will you?" With that, and a few more little goodbyes, Miss Nerissa Bell takes her leave; half of her Witches disappear with her, but the other half remain to help keep an eye on things as the day progresses and to help with directing people to either houses or the barracks set against the Wall. While there will be no NPC threads this time - sorry! - we have opened up an NPC Inbox! You can find it here. While they definitely prefer letters, they do both have watches now like cool moms and can be contacted through that as well, provided they aren't busy at the time.

II. THE HAVEN Formerly part of the Aristocratic District, The Haven is just as well-kept and brightly-lit as the district it hails from. The houses err on the tall and ornamental-side, large enough to fit several families (or, according to the upper class, their one family, several dozen servants, and guests), especially closest to the Aristocratic District. They become a little more modest and smaller as one gets away from the realm of high society and nearer to the Residential District proper. Newcomers are shuffled here and invited to find somewhere to live - the Coven is currently handling expenses for the houses themselves in an program implemented by the Parliament, though if your character wishes to have anything extra - like maids, chefs, and so on - they'll have to pay for them themselves with their own earned money. Much of the landscape and fixtures are the same as in the Aristocratic Districts, though it lacks formal emergency services due to its roots as part of a district that already did. Much of the housing already has furnishing due to the speed at which homeowners were relocated; they were given enough time to collect their valuables, but standard furniture such as kitchenware, couches, beds, etc. were left behind for those moving in. Other houses appear the same, but the dust on the floors suggest these houses were left before the new arrivals even showed up - a reminder that the Cwyld can strike just about anyone, regardless of standing. Some may be familiar with this portion of Aefenglom already, as they took on the task of helping to clean the area up. Surprise, one could say; they were preparing their own future homes, for their stay in the city. However, another portion of this district has been opened up to the new arrivals: the barracks, the row of buildings pressed against the very edge of the Bright Wall. As the city's military force no longer has the same presence it previously did, the barracks have gone into disuse, and a cleanup effort has been in place since before the new arrivals came through the Looking-Glass House. For those who desire something a little less opulent, the barracks might just be the answer. The barracks can also be used for business, for a welcome center, a communal space, for anything that the residents of the Haven see fit to use it for - so long as the legality isn't questionable, on the surface. Not everyone is so happy, however. A very vocal group of younger rich people are set on harassing and bullying those moving into The Haven, and they aren't afraid to use a little magic to do it. Levitation, fake fire, real fire, sudden weather shifts, and threats to do more if they don't find somewhere else to live are all present - these aristocrats don't care for the new people butting into their lives, especially anyone who looks distinctly non-human or already have signs of their Monster traits coming in. There are others, though, who are quite pleased to have new neighbors - many of them weren't so happy with their other ones - and have set up little stalls to peruse and tables to sit at to help foster them in. These have everything from food to flowers, to expensive-looking trinkets and jewelry on them - the people running them are quite amiable, especially closer to the Residential District proper, and don't mind handing these out for free... or mostly free. The only thing they'll ask of any characters wishing to procure something from their gifts is to perform a trick - sort of like a one-man talent show. They aren't picky, and as long as a character does their best, they'll give them a gift. (Or someone with quick fingers could just swipe them off, given how unprotected they are, but that person will find their hands turning red and leaving similarly-colored marks on everything they touch, as if dipped in paint.)

III. AND THEN THEY WERE ROOMMATES To help with filling up the larger houses - and even some of the smaller ones, and the shared rooms in the barracks - the Witches left over from Nessie's group have come together to set up a little roommate finding service that will run for the week. For those who aren't entirely sure who they want to shack up with, they have a small survey for them to fill out and post on the board they've magicked up in the center of The Haven. The board also very helpfully reads aloud each form for everyone to hear in a cheerful, monotone voice. It isn't able to be shut up, nor is it easy to ignore, being imbued with a similar kind of amplification magic that Miss Nessie used earlier in the morning for her own voice. It seems these Witches - or at least one of them - has a prankster nature... and unfortunately, it doesn't stop there. a. A LITTLE MISCHIEF While by and large the board will work as it should - a listing is filled out, put up, and read aloud for all to hear - for characters who aren't interested in doing some writing, or who can't for one reason or another, the board will take it upon itself to make one for them. It isn't going to be the most accurate at all, being either completely fictitious or based on a first impression from the board itself. This can range from "They have blue eyes, so you know they're a kind person!" to "How stand-offish, they must be a crook! A thief! A villain!" and anything in-between, including but not limited to: outrageous feats they may or may not have accomplished, poor hygiene habits, false accounts of incredibly embarrassing moments, and so on. b. A LITTLE HANDS-ON Not entirely content with just allowing people to write their preferences and call it a day, a few of the younger Witches have begun magicking small chocolates, hard candies, and bubble gum, and handing them out to new arrivals as a welcome treat. These aren't any ordinary treats though - they have one of three of effects: • Sticky fingers, meaning characters will stick to anyone or anything they touch. • Truthfulness, meaning characters will say whatever they're really thinking or feeling at the moment. • Desire for company, meaning characters will gravitate immediately to the first person they see, regardless of their feelings on them otherwise. Thankfully, none of these last long - only about ten minutes, and they can't be combined with each other; eating one candy with one effect will simply replace any other effects... Which might be for the better. The subthread for this can be found HERE, while any ones that are made up by the board itself can be simply written into your top levels or replies to other people. Have fun with it, and good luck finding some housemates!

Welcome to the midmonth event log! While mingling on the log itself is highly encouraged, feel free to make your own logs; take the prompts offered and go wild, go crazy, go stupid, have fun. As ever, if your character is getting into any Shenanigans, let the mods know, and if you have any questions about the log, ask them here!

Comments

[topslug]

All the shouting back and forth has left Yako flustered, the color high in her cheeks as her heart beats hard in her chest.

"At least try it first!" she huffs back, pointing at him accusingly. The scratches his claws left across the back of her hand are bleeding freely now, a less benign mirror of the red doughnut filling now slipping down his own face (though the overall aesthetic is much the same, red slipping down over pale skin).

"If you have the energy to complain, you have the energy to chew! At least if you go feral you'll have something in your stomach!"

[silentsavant]

"Your priorities are all out of order!!" screams Soren. "You think a pastry is going to help me deal with this?! Don't be absurd!!"

It appears that Soren, the level-headed tactician of the Greil Mercenaries, is weathering a temper-tantrum over having to eat a jelly doughnut. It's not a good look on him.

[topslug]

"It's a magic pastry!" Yako bawls in return. With all this commotion, they're bound to attract attention sooner or later, but everyone else must have their hands full (ha ha) with all the effects of the full moons.

"Are you really going to go feral over a doughnut?! Weren't you listening to anything the Coven said before?!" She doesn't know for a fact that everyone has been paying attention to the Coven's advice on this kind of thing, but in the brief interaction they've already had, Soren strikes her as something of a know-it-all -- or at the very least, someone who prides themselves on knowing things. Appealing to that need to show off knowledge (or pretend that he possesses it) is something of a gamble, but ... that's about all she can do in this situation.

[silentsavant]

He peers at the doughnut with its magical properties now revealed to him. Of course, the specifics of them are still unknown, but that tweaks the situation from "eat a doughnut; at least you'll go feral on a full stomach!" to "eat a doughnut; it's magical and should help a monster control themselves better!" That's right. A monster.

He's really turning into one, no matter how hard he resists. His feelings on the matter mean nothing against reality's savagery.

A jolt of pain stabs him right in between the shoulder blades and pulls out, as though drawing a font of blood or heat out to spread behind him. He buckles with a whimpering moan, grits his teeth against it, and holds himself to endure. It subsides enough for him to pry himself out of his self-embrace and give the doughnut another bout of consideration. Really, what more harm would taking a chance on eating it be than losing himself to the overpowering instincts that try to subsume him? It's definitely worth a shot. He palms the paper, scoops the doughnut up with a trembling hand, and gingerly, oh so gingerly, starts to nibble at the corner, as though he still doesn't quite trust it.

"..."

He chews. As he does, his eyes float back up to Yako, studying her through the dark pulsing haze of his vision. Something inside of him softens, clarifies, releases tension. Whether it be the work of the magic taking effect, or the echo of a distant memory he treasures resounding into how this person reaches her hand out to offer him aid right at this moment, can't quite be determined. He has no idea what her ulterior motives might be, or if she has any to speak of, but... ...maybe, just for a moment, he will relish the fact that somebody did when they had the option to save their own skin and leave him to suffer an unknown, harrowing fate alone. The jelly doughnut begins to disappear faster, and faster, and he starts to wolf it down as though he'd never had a bite to eat in all his life.

[topslug]

"...!" There's a look on her face that's no doubt easy to read, Yako wanting to reach out when he jerks in pain, but it's clear to her that would likely provoke another effort to lash out. It seems like it's taking most of his energy to just bear with what's happening to him now, and there's nothing she can do but wait in terse silence as he finally pries one arm away to start eating.

With the first tentative bite, Yako's shoulders remain tense, but as he takes another, and another, they sag in relief. On Soren's end, the effect of the enchantment is faint to start, but as he consumes more of the doughnut he'll find himself filled with a warmth that's certainly of no natural origin. Warmth, and a little fuzzy-headedness, something that he would almost certainly recognize as tipsiness if he's ever had a chance to imbibe.

Oblivious to that, Yako's brows remain furrowed, and her gaze flits between his face and the rest of his body rather than meeting his eyes. Despite her optimism and how aggressively she'd pushed this on him, she still doesn't have actual evidence this works from her own experience, only trusting the word of the Witches who'd given her the most bare-bones explanation of things to start with.

Is it like this, for everyone else who's come here and apparently can't use magic? It shouldn't have to be, she thinks, and a resoluteness forms in her then, to learn how to do more to help. Seeing Soren's motions become more ravenous in front of her, Yako's throat tightens, feeling the hot prickle of tears in her eyes despite herself. Lest that get her yelled at again for being stupid, she ducks her head quickly, rummaging through the detritus emptied from her bag.

"Do you need more?" she asks, without looking up. "I don't have any more of those, but--" Her fingers brush across a makeshift paper wrapper she'd tucked into in between her books and her her breath comes a little easier. "Umm, I do have these from when the Coven was moving us into the Haven." Perhaps the enchantment's grown a little worn, and they're a bit squashed out of shape from having been in her bag, but it's still a respectable mouthful or two of chocolate. She should probably warn him about the pranking, she thinks, but the effects are temporary enough that she hopes he'll forgive them, if they still help in the end, and she'll hold the twist of paper out to Soren instead of throwing it at his head this time.

[silentsavant]

Watching her body language ride upon his changing condition, the empathy stir in her eyes, gets to Soren a little bit. The next pang hits him square in the chest. Anguish of all sorts has been creasing the lineaments of his face the whole encounter, but there's something raw about the face he makes at Yako then, the cold and brutal hostility banned for something a little more inviting, just a notion of vulnerability that could be a mere trick of the moonlight. His eyes catch iridescent like rubies.

The next morsel she extends to him looks like the candy that was being offered by students trying to bite back mischievous grins with affected friendly ones. Not the most trustworthy food to be eating... but his desperation has grown to such a point that he'd swallow bewitched rocks if it meant he could prevent himself from turning into a hazard.

At any rate, the pandemonium inside of him has quelled to a degree noticeable enough, something more of a pleasant buzz than a whipping whirlwind. The aches have dulled, too. If her quick solution showed that much promise for him, then he's willing to go out on a limb and scarf down some sketchy magical chocolates, too. He's been cursed by an assortment of tricks all day; what are a few more magical side-effects compared to what might be in store for him if he doesn't take in more magic?

Soren crawls to his knees and edges close enough to take the wrapper, though he drops it to the ground when he tries to pluck it with his long nails and woozy head. Alongside the blood caked on the back of his hand, a flash of ebony mirroring the moon startles him — a patch of... scales? A new development.

He stares at them for a long second with extra agony burned into his features, twisting his wrist and wondering what else of him looks wrong.

i had an icon that was appropriate so i figured what the hey, let's go for it

[topslug]

She'd been prepared to hand over the chocolates, but its Soren fumbling and dropping it instead that has her looking up at him properly again, worry immediately flashing back to her expression. Is he all right? Is he still being affected by whatever it is the moons are doing to him?

It takes a beat for her to realize it's something else that's caught his attention. Deciding she'll risk meeting him halfway now, it's her turn to crawl forward until she's inside arm's range, taking up the paper wrapper again and opening it up fully. As she does so, she can't help feeling a little sheepish; some of the melted-together pieces aren't the easiest to pry apart, even with fingers that aren't suddenly clawed.

"It's going to be all right," she repeats her words from earlier, with more certainty this time. As though saying it with sufficient conviction will make it so. Fearlessly, she leans forward and reaches out to press a piece of broken-off chocolate to his lips, giving it a little nudge with her thumb if that isn't a sufficient hint.

"My name is Yako Katsuragi. I'm going to stay with you until you're okay."

this is so powerful...

[silentsavant]

As she pokes the chocolate against his mouth, his eyes pop in subtle surprise. Of course, it's a little embarrassing to be hand-fed like a baby bird... but desperate times call for desperate measures. It's her words that strike him, stir him up inside unexpectedly, and when he accepts the morsel into his mouth, a tear rolls down his raspberry-streaked cheek.

Maybe it's the moons. Maybe it's the buildup of all the emotional toil after being separated from his home, from all that he thought he knew, and the man who brightened his life, who shared dreams with him that after all was said and done, they could travel together, discover new worlds together. Together! He's in a new world, all right, but they're nowhere near together, and that's the disaster of it. Or maybe it's just how rotten the past few days have gone, being mistreated by condescending townspeople for what he was, without him even knowing what he was...

...it's such a familiar feeling, isn't it? One he has come to understand so intimately: hatred. It's singed into his past, into his very being, his very understanding of himself and what it means to be despised and alone for reasons beyond him. It's blighted his comprehension of how it is also possible to be loved and cared for.

Or maybe, he's driven to tears because in spite of how scary these upheavals have been, how horrifying it is to have his own magic rendered inert and to mutate so grotesquely, and how terrifying and grim the future will be when he warps beyond recognition and cannot even return home without returning as a hideous monster (anathema to beorc, laguz, and the branded!), he's not alone, not right now. Someone is standing beside him. All at once, he realizes just how lonely he's made himself these past few weeks and how cold and devoid of companionship he's been, of comfort, of support, of belonging. He swallows the rich sweetness in whimpering gulps and devolves into a progressively sobbier mess as his well-fortified dams crumble before her.

"Soren..." he gurgles. "I'm Soren! And I don't think I'll... I'll ever be okay...! Aah...!"

[topslug]

It's a startling change from the young man who'd been so determined to assert not needing any help before, and Yako's eyes widen as the first tears start to spill down Soren's face. It seems a little absurd that a little bit of chocolate should produce such a reaction -- enchanted or not -- so the cause for his tears must be something else beyond the present moment they've found themselves in.

He's sobbing like a child who's lost something very dear to him, and her heart aches in sympathy and the desire to reach out. She can remember only a few times in her life she's ever felt that kind of despair, and it's always been difficult, a burden so great it feels like it could crush all the breath out of you.

"It may feel that way right now ... but I promise you that's not true." In silent invitatio, she holds her hand out to him, palm-up, even if what part of her would really rather offer is a hug. For one thing, he might not like it, and for another, she might just end up hurting him in the process. What she'd really like to do is take him back to the Coven, get one of the healing witches to take a look at him and the damage he and his changes have wrought to himself, but that can at least wait until he's caught his breath and feels up to walking again.

[silentsavant]

He's too choked of words to form any immediate response, throat squeezed shut as he wrings the brunt of his sobs out. He knows he should be ashamed of himself for putting his raw emotions on such display, for burdening someone he only just met with pity for his wretched despair bundled in numerous layers she cannot comprehend closer to the core of it. But he can't even bring himself to feel but the barest scrap of that. Worse yet, he finds himself drawn to her pity like a drowning man reaching for someone's oar in turbulent waters. Like it's a matter of pure survival, and it would be a fool's move to refuse help no matter how far beyond it he feels.

The pain dwindles in trickles, but it's notably better, better enough not to dominate his whole being. And though his mind swoons like he's had a cup to drink, it's also rocked to more clarifying pacification. A curious concoction of states and emotions swirl inside, wanting desperately to fill the screaming hollowness caving him in. Not only does he think he ought to go where Yako does, but that he yearns to. He may not know her, he may not trust her, but he wants to. With a slow, doddering advance and a trice or two of hesitation, Soren lays his palm atop hers at last, fighting himself for even breath. Hoping that the scales and the nails don't plunge the same cold fright in her that it does himself to see.

[topslug]

The difference between pity and compassion, Yako would say, is action. She may not understand the cause of Soren’s pain exactly—beyond what the full moons have wrought, it feels like there’s a deeper hurt being nursed inside—but more than just feeling sympathetic, she knows she wants to find a way to relieve it. But to do that, she’ll need to know more about Soren than a few minutes of seeing him in such a wretched state is able to tell her.

She doesn’t recoil from his touch, curling her hand as best as she can around his and grasping him back as firmly as she can. If she can’t convey her certainty that she’ll stay by his side in words, hopefully she can do it through touch.

“Soren,” she says, “I want to take you to the Coven’s healers so they can patch you up. Do you think you’ll be able to walk with me?”

[silentsavant]

He might as well try, and he's feeling more up to it now. Setting his sole on the street, he uses Yako's grip as a leverage to rise from his knees to his feet, careful and steady with himself. The chaos still pulses, but it's duller than before, muted. Nevertheless, he remains tight as before, as though enduring an onslaught of sleet.

"Slowly, at first," he requests softly, an uncharacteristic reluctance to let go of her the reason it never occurs to him to disconnect their hands. A comfortable warmth continues to permeate from within.

[topslug]

"Of course," Yako reassures. She gives his fingers a reassuring squeeze, and it's with a quick and practiced motion that she shoves the spilled content of her bag back inside it, stuffs the paper of chocolate into a pocket, and starts to guide Soren on the unsteady walk back to the Coven.

They'll stop as much as Soren needs to, whether it's to deal with a fresh burst of pain, or catch his breath. Fortunately, in a district like this one, there's no shortage of things to lean against or sit down on, and Yako will also take those times to offer him more chocolate, whether it's from her hands or his own. Conversation's minimal: she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence if he doesn't, more preoccupied with keeping him going and watching for any sign of faltering.

Somehow, he never actually does detach from her, meaning they end up holding hands all the way to the Coven's infimary and the Witch on duty, who looks a little startled by Soren's state, but quickly recovers, ushering them to an examining room. He doesn't ask if they're Bonded -- the assumption is, perhaps, that a Monster that was wouldn't be in this state -- but he does, with a touch of impatience, tell them they'll need to let go of each other before he can examine and treat Soren.

[silentsavant]

It's only when he's issued orders to let go that Soren realizes, with a sear of embarrassment, that he's clinging to her hand like a lost child. He releases it with haste and watches the warm stone tiles swim in the dim confines of the sick ward. The Witch proceeds to look him over and ushers him to a cot where he may sit and conserve energy. As Soren is separated, he casts a final glimpse of dizzy longing at his savior before paying wary attention to the man touching him now.

Everything is so confusing... His spiked feelings, why he has to change, the moons calling him.

The first thing he's treated to is magical healing for his wounds. The tissue reconstructs and dams the flow of blood broken from his flesh. As the gentle spell undoes his gashes like a heal staff channeled through hands, the nurse explains that Soren is under risk of going feral, of losing his humanity. That he is a monster — and at being told this point-blank, Soren's face darkens as an irrational anger overtakes him. Witnessing the ire flash in his eyes, the Witch is quick to back away, tell him to hold tight for a moment, and opens a cabinet to procure a vial of something that he urges Soren to drink. He's skeptical at first, asking what it is, to which he explains it contains sedative effects, and magic to boot. This is the perfect leeway to explain the principle Soren and Yako had tested for themselves: the more magic imbued into a monster, the more stabilized they become. "Even healing you the way I did helped," he adds.

"I see..." mulls Soren, halfway distant between his body and mind, like he's living outside of the experience itself. He does, in fact, feel a lot calmer than he did in the streets, even with that quick pulse of anger that reared its head. The aggression has slowly been displaced by the tremendous exhaustion that results from the toll this takes on his flimsy little body, and his eyelids droop. He'd much rather be a torpid shell of himself than a savage beast losing himself to wanton bloodlust.

He's reminded of the laguz, the Feral Ones subjected to cruel and inhumane experiments at the steep cost of their sanity. The drugs that pollute their sense of self. Is this what it must be like? To lose all inhibitions and control, to care for nothing but the rush of battle...? Here, like never before, he finds himself relating to the half of his blood that the laguz had so long wanted to deny him. That he once wished he could deny.

Maybe that's it. Maybe that's why he's becoming a monster instead. He shuts his eyes and lets the Witch continue to pour magic into him, pain from the heart marring his face in the absence of physical wounds. A part of him he's out of touch with longs for the warmth of Yako's hand to embrace his again. But she's right there as she promised she would be, undaunted by him, and at least in one sense, he doesn't have to be alone with this.

[topslug]

During the examination, not having much to add, Yako will remain close enough to keep an eye on Soren and his reactions. She thinks of saying something when Soren grows angry and the Witch backs off, but decides that's one of those emotions it's better to let him experience fully and process himself. If this is something that will continue to happen every month, he'll likely have more than ample reason to get angry all over again as time passes. She can't always be there to tell him to settle down.

The Witch finishes off his spell before turning to Yako, beckoning her towards him. She doesn't understand at first, what he means, before he says, exasperated now by two patients that don't quite seem to understand how to take care of themselves, that he'd also like to see her hand.

Oh -- where Soren scratched her. In all the business of calming him down and moving him around, Yako had quite honestly forgotten about the injury, and it's dried into tacky streaks of blood by now, in any case. It's really not much of a big deal, more like a scraped knee than anything else, but the Witch asks with a strange urgency if Soren's ingested any of her blood. Baffled by the question, Yako shakes her head in negation, since she'd only ever used her uninjured hand to feed Soren anything. The Witch sighs in relief before he starts to briskly close up her scratches.

"Be more careful next time," is what he tells her, clicking his tongue and releasing her when he's done. "A witch's blood can be a source of magic too, and not the kind you want monsters to get a taste for." Brushing his robes off, he'll stand, then examine that Soren's getting along all right one more time, before he nods his head and looks back at Yako questioningly.

"I'd like to stay with him, if that's all right," she says, without prompting, absently rubbing her hand over the tender but now-smoothed skin on the back of her hand. Standing up, she'll go to occupy the chair by the bed, presumably put in place there for visitors and the like. With a nod, and a last injunction not to keep the patient up and call him in case of emergency, the Witch pushes back through the thin curtains giving the cot some thin veneer of privacy. They're alone, again, after a fashion.

[silentsavant]

Witch's blood... monsters taste... These words roll around dangerously in Soren's groggy head, stirring curiosity as to how a witch's blood might spell trouble for a monster to eat. It only serves to remind him of the horror he's becoming, and the pain etches deeper into his expression. Before he knows it, the Witch is gone, and he's left with only the idea that witch blood and monster palates should never mix.

Once more, Soren grows baffled by her insistence to stay by his side. For all his antsy clinginess wrought by desperation and more, she's still a stranger to him, one going far for his sake. It wasn't as though he was ever particularly nice to her, either; why, he attacked her. He's nothing but an imposition to her, an outright danger, and he can't see what she could possibly stand to gain from helping him this way. Perhaps not personal gain, anyway — after all, he's not just a threat to one, but a threat to all, and placating him this way may have helped save a few lives by reducing the number of monsters losing it to the moons. That does derive a collective benefit. The less monsters spilling blood in the city, the better for them. The newcomers don't need to be darkened by an even worse image in the eyes of the populace.

But he's tired, and no matter how he rationalizes this for her, he feels indebted to her sacrifices, if not a little in awe of them. Posture sunken, hands dangling between his legs over the edge of the cot where he can't see them, he pieces together what he wants to say now that the eye of their storm has passed.

"...I've caused you a great deal of trouble tonight," he acknowledges on a brittle voice. "I... Thank you. I don't know what I might have done, had you not come..."

[topslug]

“I’m just glad I was able to help,” Yako says, truthfully. For her, it boils down to something that simple: being in the right place, at the right time, with the right tools, there wasn’t any option but to do the right thing.

Of course, even without that, she would have tried regardless. But if she hadn’t known what might be able to help, if she hadn’t had something to hand in her bag ... things could have gone much worse. She’s of half a mind to ask him if there’s someone who would be looking for him right now, someone who expects to see him come back, but he looks so defeated right now she’s not sure that wouldn’t be rubbing salt into a wound.

“If it was the other way around...” A very real possibility, given everything. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be left alone, myself.”

[silentsavant]

He slumps even more, bangs curtaining his eyes. "I didn't feel that way; not in the moment. All I wanted was... to hide somewhere. Nurse my pain where no one could see me. Deal with it alone." The way he has learned to. The way it has always been... until he made a place for himself among a group of people Ike called his family. "But... I think having some assistance in this... ultimately panned out better."

Even if she got long peeks at his most crushing vulnerabilities. She probably thinks him weaker than she would if they had met under more stable circumstances. She's privy to more wounded parts of him than even some members of the Greil Mercenaries are. Now that she's seen a glimpse of his weakness and he put his trust in her by necessity, the first threads of a bond tie him to her in a secure foundational knot.

[topslug]

Not a lot of people really want to be alone at heart, even when they want to run away, but Yako doesn't contradict what Soren says, nodding solemnly at his words. She's glad she didn't run, and she'll stand by that decision, though it's undoubtedly more embarrassing for Soren.

"It's nice to do things on your own when you can," she muses, "But knowing when to ask for help ... I think that takes a kind of strength too."

Slumping like that brings something else into view, and Yako's expression turns a touch sheepish, turning to the side-table and the small washcloth and basin there that's presumably for personal use. Taking the cloth, she dips a corner of it into the water to dampen it, then turns back to Soren.

"Sorry, but you've still, um. Got some jam on your face and hair. Can I...?" She waves the washcloth vaguely in the air, hoping he'll take her meaning.

[silentsavant]

Oh, he gets it, all right. And the line of his mouth warps into something less dignified because of it. He'd nearly forgotten... He's drunk and sad and tired, okay!?! And kind of enchanted to crave her attentions.

This is really embarrassing, but he also doesn't like having sugary crap all over his face. "...If you don't mind..." he murmurs like his jaw is rusted over. Look. Sometimes, it takes a bit of strength to ask for help.

[topslug]

There, was that so hard, Soren? It only gets easier with practice, you know! The assent, no matter how sullenly given, makes the girl smile.

"Okay. Can you tilt your face back up to me so I can get all of it?" Yako's not completely insensible -- she can guess by now which of the enchantments he's been afflicted with, and she's not above using it a little to her advantage. If previous experience serves, the effects are temporary enough to wear off eventually, unless it's had some strange interaction with her own cooking experiment... well, she hopes that's not the case. If it was harmful, the Witch would have done something about it, right?!

Not that she lets any of those worries show on her face. She'll diligently wipe off the now-tacky jam from Soren's face, working briskly but gently to minimize his discomfort. In doing so, though, it's hard to miss the mark on his forehead -- some kind of brand or tattoo? -- that she'd not paid much attention to earlier.

"...There. All done."

[silentsavant]

His face heats up as though to counter the coolness of the damp cloth while he feels like a helpless child being cared for — not that he's had the experience to actually understand how that feels. He keeps his eyes closed and endures the shame of it, the ticklish commotion inside of his quick-thrumming chest at her careful ministrations. And was he imagining things, or was she trying to wipe off the mark on his forehead...? Ah. That won't come off. It's not raspberry.

When she finishes, he finds he can't look upon her for too long.

"...That's better. Thank you for cleaning up your mess." Well, except for his clothes, but... he'll just have to deal with those later.

[topslug]

Wow, he sure recovered quick if he's already huffing at her like that! Yako can't help but laugh a little as she puts the washcloth off to the side again, recognizing she won't be able to deal with the stuff on his clothes like this.

"Consider it an apology for throwing a pastry at your head." Not that she sounds too apologetic; in the end, that pastry did help, for all the mess it caused. "If I knew the right spell, it probably would have been less embarrassing for both of us, huh?"

She flexes her fingers, absently gazing down at her hand. "... Guess I'll have until from now 'til the next full moon to get better at magic myself."

[silentsavant]

Another ripple of pain splits down the sides of his forearms, causing him to clench his fingers a little in its suddenness. It's a lot duller, though: more of an ache than a slice or a stab.

He considers her last words, mourning his own loss of magical aptitude again. It had been almost as natural to him as walking, and now... just about everything has been thrown off-kilter. What about Yako? "Is learning magic new to you?"

[topslug]

It's not as though it's some great secret, so... "Yes, it is. In my world, the only place magic and monsters exist is in stories."

With the notable exception of the occasional mystery-eating demon, but strictly speaking, he's not of her 'realm' so he doesn't count.